My chest tightens. “Why?” I cry. “He wouldn’t leave me.”
MONSTERS TEND TO PREFER THEIR SOLITUDE.
For one second, I almost ask it. Did he do it? Did he throw them? Something tells me it would answer. I can’t make myself say the words. “I trust him,” I whisper instead. “He wouldn’t. He is not a monster, you are!”
The silence that follows is my answer. I stay there, on my knees, my shredded palms stinging, my face wet with tears Idon’t remember crying.Time blurs.The screaming from the group fades. I don’t know how long I’m there, but it feels like forever. My knees are numb, my body a block of ice.
“Don’t touch me,” I choke out when I hear shuffling nearby. I don’t know who I’m talking to. I don’t care. “Leave me alone.”
To my surprise, they do. Maybe it’s the wild look in my eyes. Maybe they’re just scared of the Pit, and by extension, me. Whatever the reason, no one comes close. I’m left alone with the bubbling tar and the roaring in my own head.
Until I’m not. “Get off me,” I snap, twisting away without looking. I expect it to be Lou, or some cop trying to drag me to my feet. When I finally glare up, the words die in my throat.
I’ve never seen him before in my life, but I know exactly who he is. There’s no doubt. The resemblance is obvious. Same face. Same grayish-blue eyes, the kind of intense eyes that look like they can see right through you.It’s Jax’s face, but older.If there was ever a wrong moment to meet Jaxwell St. Clair, this would be it.
Jax’s grandfather stands beside me like he stepped out of a different world entirely with his hair combed back, not a strand out of place. He looks the part, the kind of man who owns whatever ground he stands on—even when that ground just swallowed who knows how many lives.
His hand is steady on my shoulder. “You shouldn’t be this close to the edge,” he says, his voice gentle.
It’s amazing how fast they all showed up: cops, detectives, an ambulance—the whole crew.
Jaxwell doesn’t raise his voice once. “Officers,” he says calmly, turning slightly without removing his hand from me, “I’m sure there’s an explanation. Let’s not jump to conclusions.”
One of the detectives—the older one with a tired face—looks irritated. “Four boys are missing.”
“Panicking won’t bring them back,” Jaxwell replies smoothly. “Let’s gather facts before we start ruining young lives.”
I stare at him. “You knew,” I say quietly.
His eyes shift to me. “I know many things,” he replies. “Right now, I know you’re in shock.” He squeezes my shoulder.
Behind us, an officer raises his voice. “We need statements!”
“He was holding him,” Whistle says. “I saw him. Jax had him. Jax climbed out, but Ivan didn’t.”
“Climbed out?” the detective repeats carefully, pen pausing over his notebook. “You’re saying he climbed out of?—?”
“Both of them,” Whistle points at me.
“Jax is not here, you need to find him,” I say.
Whistle adds, “He ran.”
The detective studies me like I’m a piece of evidence, not a person. He asks me a million questions, and I try to answer, but my head keeps zooming in and out of focus.Where could Jax have gone?The thought loops in my mind, a repeating beat under the detective’s monotone voice.
I take a couple of steps forward, my eyes scanning the dark trees, and the detective calls me back.
“Miss Zaitseva, you need to stay here. We need to ask you more questions. You were one of the last people to see them. What did you see?”
My throat is tight. “I told you… I fell.”
“Before you fell,” he presses. “Did you see Jax with the victims?”
“He didn’t do it!” I snap, then immediately regret it as the detective’s eyes narrow, his patience wearing thin.
Behind us, another officer mutters something about “three confirmed missing.”
I look past the detective, my eyes finding Jaxwell’s. “What about Jax?” I ask, my voice desperate. “We need to find him. We can’t just leave him out there.”
